


False Light

by diathlu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cryptozoology, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mothlo, Mothman Kylo, Pheromones, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 00:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diathlu/pseuds/diathlu
Summary: The small light (not the moon and not the sun; he’s learned the hard way that there is false light) near her face illuminates it just enough that he can see the delicate curve of her nose, and the spots splayed across her skin. It isn’t ashen like his own, reminds him more of the sun, and that tempts him.





	False Light

**Author's Note:**

> Rey fucks the Mothman, okay? He's just lonely.
> 
> This work is based on the Mothlo art I've seen from queso_en on Twitter, just in time for Halloween. <3

A _nomad_ and an _explorer_ are two different things. See, a nomad doesn’t have a permanent home, but they typically travel in groups, like a family, with the purpose of finding new land for their cattle to graze on. An explorer is more of an adventurer, someone who seeks out unfamiliar places and new experiences for the thrill of it; there is no greater purpose, other than a feeling of self-fulfilment. Then, of course, there are _vagabonds_ , who wander aimlessly with no purpose and no job, almost as if lost to the world around then.

Rey likes to think that she’s a culmination of all three of these things; a girl with no home, who seeks out new enterprises, and has no . . . _Actual_ job. But she does _kind of_ have a job, okay? It’s just dependent on whether or not she manages to dig up anything compelling, which doesn’t happen very often. In her defense, she’s always managed to scrape by pawning off found (sometimes stolen) odds and ends, scrapped pieces and metals, and occasionally her own possessions when times get desperate. Maybe it isn’t always ideal, but the life that she leads is one she’s made herself, one she’s _proud_  of.

Along the way, she’s collected a scattering of good friends and correspondents, like Finn and Rose, who are always eager to expand on her research and help her find the more obscure things. Then there’s Poe, who occasionally wires her money and has the same taste for adventure as she does.

It’s _Poe_  who she meets up with in Point Pleasant on the eve of Halloween. The pair fancy themselves cryptozoologists, which is really just a fancy way of saying a couple of nerds who want to believe in the existence of unknown, supernatural lifeforms. They met for the first time back in Roswell on the anniversary of the 1947 crash; it was Rey’s very first expedition; she drove to New Mexico from her foster home in Arizona and never looked back (only on the day that her parents left her there does she ever consider it, but she ripped herself away from that place). After accepting far too many shots of _whatever_ she ended up stumbling into the older man, who took pity on the girl and let her sleep it off on his motel room bed while he took the couch.

October thirty-first doesn’t have any special significance when it comes to the local legend that is the Mothman, but it __is__  a notoriously spooky night when just about anything otherworldly seems apt to happen. It’s rare that these expeditions ever turn up more than interesting sounds, mysterious movements, or maybe an extra-large footprint, but the thrill isn’t in what one finds. Poe _swears_  he’s seen Bigfoot, and Rey _knows_  that the stars dancing in the desert skies that she used to fixate on were UFOs, but neither of them have sought out this creature. The myth is a string of coincidences, terrifying sightings, and tragedy. If Rey were to summarise her basic knowledge on what or who the Mothman is --

“He’s very _odd_ , don’t you think? Appearing to wreak havoc and then hiding away, as if it had never happened.” She would think that a monster capable of such things would become a plague upon a town as tiny and quaint as Point Pleasant.

“It could be a _she_.” Poe points out as he fiddles with the tripod for their camcorder.

“True.” Rey hums thoughtfully, chewing at her cuticles in nervous habit. It’s still technically the thirtieth, but in about seven hours it will officially be Halloween, _when the fun starts_  as her friend put it earlier. “I just wish it lived somewhere a little warmer.” She adds, shuddering even underneath her layers of sweaters, and the puffy jacket she has zipped up to her chin. Said jacket is new, a gift from Poe (thank whatever deity for him, honestly), with a ridiculously furry rim and two, pointed antennae that he stitched on himself because he thought it would be hilarious. _She_  happens to find them cute.

“You’re still a little desert rat.” The man comes to a stand, shining that charming grin her way as he ruffles her hair underneath the hood. Rey huffs, Poe laughs. Their night is off to its usual start.

Where the two are situated is just outside of the town, an area that is most definitely restricted, but tonight the cops have better places to be. There’s a nice view of the bridge from here, where Poe is currently pointing the camera for the _perfect_  view, although Rey thought it a better idea to either scale the bridge itself, or camp out near the munitions plant where the Scarberry and Mallette sightings happened. Both were deemed too risky, although she still thinks they could spend their night doing something more proactive than staring and waiting, but more often than not this is how their escapades go. Hunting ghosts can be more active than hunting cryptids or UFOs; it would be nice if they could see more stars, but they’re still close enough to the city limits for the light pollution to obscure the sky. The pair play Go Fish until it’s too dark to see their cards, knowing that if anything is going to happen, it’ll happen when the sun goes down. Hours pass.

“I’m going into town to grab some coffee,” Poe announces all too suddenly and loudly, jolting Rey from her half-sleep. The blue, mesh chair she’s lounging in nearly topples over with the force of it, and she glares up at the man for disturbing her. Not noticing, he grumbles something about 7-Eleven and stalks off towards the car. “Don’t fall asleep before I get back!” The man calls over his shoulder, and within minutes he’s presumably driving off to the nearest gas station. This typically happens during their little stakeouts; Poe announces he’s going to get coffee, which turns into some three-hour long debacle that he always claims isn’t his fault, but Rey knows better. By now, she shrugs it off and reaches up to rub at her eyes.

There’s no way that Rey is going to be able to stay awake much longer without some sort of distraction, and since she doesn’t have a smartphone or anything along those lines to play games on, she turns to her worn deck of cards. A Bee deck that she scavenged from some old casino’s trash years ago. Flipping on the little lamp that they brought along with them, she turns towards the stand between she and Poe’s chair and begins setting up for a game of Patience. Every once in awhile, she gets stuck and pulls at the long antennae attached to her hood in thought.

 

\---

 

She’s _preening_ , he can see it from his perch amidst the backdrop of trees. It’s been so long since he’s seen one like himself, and even if time is a relatively alien concept to the creature, he does know that he’s been alone for many, many nights. A long time ago, he was called Kylo, but those days are long past and the humans no longer respect his kind. That’s why they all left, or wilted away, one by one. Her scent is what drew him in -- like the morning dew before he holes himself away in the wilds. There’s an undertone of something unfamiliar, too. Earthy, but not like the earth __here__ , like _somewhere else_.

The small light (not the moon and not the sun; he’s learned the hard way that there is _false_  light) near her face illuminates it just enough that he can see the delicate curve of her nose, and the spots splayed across her skin. It isn’t ashen like his own, reminds him more of the sun, and that tempts him. White, feathery fur surrounds her face, protrudes from her chest in a way that doesn’t seem quite right, and she doesn’t appear to have wings, but . . . Kylo will take whatever company her can get, and right now his mind is reeling for a potential mate.

 _Mate, mate, mate,_ like a mantra.

The small, exotic creature and her false light will do, and so he beats his long, drooping wings to life and lifts himself up high, until he can descend on the girl with surprising grace. Such _strange_  sounds she makes when he brings her tiny, squirming form into his arms. Almost like a human, whose tongue he loosely understands, but has difficulty mimicking.

 

\---

 

Rey has never been this high in her life. When she travels, she sticks to buses, trains, _vehicles that stay on the ground_ , but this is the last thing she ever expected. Some _thing_  pulled her into its arms, plucked her from her chair, and carried her off with the ease of a passing day. Naturally, she starts screaming immediately, pushing up against what she assumes is a chest or a stomach, panicked mind not in a state to know the difference.

Her throat is raw and sore and her arms feel too weak to continue their struggle when she chances a look down towards the ground, and realises very quickly that if this monster drops her, she’s going to end up impaled on a tree like some gruesome topper. Then again, maybe that’s better than whatever fate is in store for her whenever they reach their destination. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turns back towards the _thing’s_  chest and, as if on instinct, it huddles her closer, so that she’s nosing up against the soft fur encircling its neck.

The frigid air whips around her when they finally close in on the ground, but she feels like her throat will start bleeding if she screams again, and her limbs might fall off if she beats against the creature. Instead, she focuses her bleary eyes up on his face. So far from the town, the moon is brighter, and she decides that _he_  is distinctly masculine, because it’s easier to at least attempt attaching some sort of identity to it.

So, _he_  manages to cradle her body against his with one arm, all the while seeming to burrow into something with the other. Idly, Rey realises that she recognises their surroundings as being that of the munitions plant. Her captor is digging just above what appears to be one of the bunkers, and before long he breaks the surface with his talons. Will he use them to rip her apart, and then feast on her flesh? While she’s always dreamed of the day she’d finally meet a cryptid, she never expected it to be quite so up close and personal.

Inky darkness feels like it’s closing in on them, but the monster - she decides she’ll name him Ben for now, because that’s easy enough to remember - effortlessly navigates through the echoing halls. Down here, it smells musty and pungent, like mould, and so she finds herself nestled up against his mane again, inhaling his scent instead. It’s earthy and _old_  and it’s making her head swim.

Suddenly, Rey is dropped upon a pile of what feels like furs, and she wonders if her skin is going to be added to his collection of past kills. The thought is stolen away when he settled in next to her, and the moment she tries to struggle away his arm reaches out and he croons. The sound is deep and distinctly _sad_ , like a wounded animal. Could he be hurt? Did one of her seemingly futile punches actually do something? Some accursed instinct takes over, and she finds herself reaching out.

“Are you okay?” Her voice comes out scratchy and strained, but it seems to perk him up. If Rey quints hard enough she can see two dark antennae lifting and searching. They catch the poor, floppy excuses of her own and -- _oh_.

Oh, no.

“Kylo.” Ben rasps out like the word takes effort to say, and she realises from his body language that Ben is actually _Kylo_. The Mothman (because that’s what he had to be, from those blackened eyes to the large wings that he flew them here on) has a name. Were she not so frightened, she might be jumping for joy right now because this is an _amazing_  find.

The monster, or Ben or Kylo or whatever name Rey decides on, pulls back from her, only to nose at her neck. Rather, the fur of her jacket near to her neck. A half-brain could put it together; he seems to think that she’s like him, and she’s all at once grateful for and cursing Poe for his stupid, makeshift costume. On one hand, it’s quite literally landed her here, but on the other it might just buy her enough time to scheme a way out of this. Once her head stops spinning that is, which she attributes to being so tired (it must be nearing the witching hour at this point).

Unwittingly, she becomes pliant under her captor’s curious hands, which feel considerably rougher than any human’s when they brush up against her cheekbone. Kylo is making these low, appreciative humming sounds, almost like a purr as he feels over her clothed body. Creature that he is must not realise this isn’t how she truly looks, and that makes a nervous giggle bubble up from Rey’s lips, especially when one of his large paws finds its way behind her knee. The sound seems to concern him, given the questioning coo. For some unfathomable reason, she finds herself shaking her head and reaching up to feel through the tufts lining his arms, until they fade out into some sort of skin. Exoskeleton?

Having had time to adjust to the room, she can see him better now. Kylo’s pale skin is stark against the darkness. There’s thick, soft fur covering a good portion of his body; he has a full head of hair, a wild mane, fur down most of his arms and legs, around his pelvic area. Rather than the crude, insect-inspired statue in the middle of Point Pleasant, he’s closer to being human. It’s the wings and the eyes and all of that extra hair that set him apart, that’s what makes him stunning _otherworldly_ , and that peaks her curious nature.

Not to mention, she’s still so _dizzy_. There’s a heady warmth crawling under Rey’s skin and she doesn’t quite understand what it is until she shifts her legs into a more comfortable position and the pit of her stomach roils with arousal. Every instinct she has is fighting against it, but something about . . . His scent?

Something about his _scent_ is getting to her, and the more she breathes it in, the more yielding she becomes. Kylo grapples at her jeans and whines like he’s confused, but she isn’t, she knows what he’s looking for because her legs are spread far apart to accommodate him between them. Rey’s convinced that she must be going insane when she reaches down and struggles to undo her fly. Once it’s down, she’s kicking out of them, cotton panties shucked off and to the end of the nest with them.

 _Shit_ , the rational part of her brain thinks, _this is a nest_  and the heavy protrusion slick against her inner-thigh tells her exactly what’s supposed to come next. All the while, she remains a willing participant, hands grasping his wrists when he places both hands on either side of her head. Just one is enough to dwarf her entire face, but they aren’t what she’s worried about.

Rey isn’t a virgin. Living on the road occasionally requires a girl to do shameful things, but Kylo is _enormous_ , and the cock (she _guesses_ ) hanging between his legs is generously proportional to the rest of his body. An animal doesn’t have any preamble to having sex; there is no foreplay, no preparation, and it’s no different with a creature like the Mothman. Although beginning to grow damp when he pushes into her, it’s not nearly enough and she cries out in pain as he rips her open, fills her deeper than any partner she’s ever had. Tears burn at her eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the searing between her legs.

Worried, she thinks, but is too delirious from agony to ponder his actions deeply, Kylo stops and reaches down with one warm hand to stroke over her jacket-covered abdomen. Without thinking, Rey reaches for her zipper and shakily undoes it, allowing him to palm over her wool sweater. Gods, she can feel that he’s protruding through her stomach and she shudders. It’s too much, he’s _too_ big, and yet she can’t seem to pull away. The scent he’s giving off pulls her in, and despite the pain she feels herself growing wetter around his cock, writhing for some sense of friction. There’s precum, or some equivalent, leaking into her and she can feel it helping lube the way.

Sensing Rey’s cautious movements, he tries to imitate, hips moving to slowly drag out of her, only halfway before he’s pushing back in. That hand remains over her stomach and it adds to the feeling of fullness, girth splaying her open more than her fingers or any human could ever hope to. She’s left breathless, hands scrambling for a new sense of purchase until she finds his shoulders, then his mane, fingers tangling in the thick hair (the tips fade to red, like the colour she imagines so many people say his eyes glow).

Internal stimulation typically isn’t enough to bring Rey to release, but with each push and pull she feels herself edging closer, and given how much his massive form is trembling he isn’t far behind. Her body seizes up, spasming around him until he’s grunting in tandem with her moans in what can only be described as blissful relief. Kylo fills her; she can feel his release flood into her, _out_ of her, seeping from where they’re tightly connected, but he doesn’t pull out. Instead, he leans down, panting heavily as he nuzzles into the soft fur of her coat, closer to her chest now that it’s open in the front. This change in wardrobe doesn’t seem to phase the sated beast. One hand curling around the dip of her waist, he easily turns her onto her side, spooning up behind her.

Overtime, his cock recedes. Rey whines when it slides out, sticky and wet and achingly empty. Against her back, she can feel the creature’s broad chest rising and falling, but he isn’t asleep quite yet. Kylo curls around her, until she’s trapped within a tangle of arms and legs and -- she lets out a soft, slow gasp when one wing stretches over them. It shields her from the cold, body far to slack to even attempt reaching to pull her pants back up (not that she can see them, anyway). Initially, she’d been terrified for her life, but in the end she . . . Was _clearly_ reading the signals wrong, although she is briefly reminded that some insects kill their mates after breeding. _But isn’t it usually the female who bites off the male’s head_  her tired brain helpfully reminds herself. _Plus_ , she rationalises, _Kylo isn’t an insect_. He’s something else, although she isn’t quite sure what. Hell, she isn’t even sure she should stick around long enough to find out, but the need to sleep and his ever-comforting scent lull her into a sense of _safe_ , so her eyes flutter shut.

Come morning, she’ll slip out of Kylo’s hold and navigate her way through that long hall while pulling on her pants, until she finds the point of light where he dug out his entrance. Assuming her cellphone isn’t completely dead, she’ll phone Poe and tell him -- well, she doesn’t know _what_ she’ll tell him. Maybe she wandered off and got lost, because that’s a hell of a lot more believable than saying she literally fucked the Mothman. It won’t be much of a stretch, considering she told him she wanted to visit this area. If her phone is dead, she’ll find the nearest street and hitch-hike back into town. Rey knows she can’t _stay_ here, even if she’d never felt quite as taken care of as she does falling asleep in this monster’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter @nsfwars


End file.
